"No.
I'd been holding him off, but when he left yesterday… it was just yesterday, wasn't it? It seems like a year ago. Anyway, I
knew that, when he came back, I wouldn't be able to stop him any longer. My
time had run out."
"What makes you so certain of that?"
Jane paused, wondering just how much to tell
him, wondering how much he already knew. If he was involved, he would be
familiar with Luis's name; if he wasn't, the name would mean nothing to him.
She wanted to tell him; she didn't want to be alone in this nightmare any
longer. But she remembered George telling her once that secrecy was synonymous
with security, and she quelled the need to turn into Grant's arms and tell him
how afraid and alone she had been. If he wasn't involved already, he was safer
not knowing anything about it. On the other hand, if he was involved, she might be safer if he didn't realize
how deeply she was a part of things. Finally, to answer his question, she said,
"I wasn't certain. I was just afraid to stay, afraid of Turego ."
He grunted, and that seemed to be the end of
the conversation. Jane clenched her jaw against the sudden chattering of her
teeth. It was hot and steamy inside the dark tent, but chills were running up
and down her body. Why didn't he say something else, anything, rather than
lying there so quietly? She might as well have been alone. It was unnatural for
anyone to be that soundless, that utterly controlled.
"How was Dad?"
"Why?"
"I just wondered." Was he being
deliberately evasive? Why didn't he want to talk about her father?
Perhaps he hadn't been hired by her father at
all and didn't want to be drawn into a conversation about someone he was
supposed to have met, but hadn't.
After a measured silence, as if he had
carefully considered his answer, he said, "He was worried sick about you.
Surprised?"
"No, of course not," she said,
startled. "I'd be surprised if he weren't."
"It doesn't surprise you that he'd pay a
small fortune to get you out of Turego's hands, even
though you don't get along with him?"
He was confusing her; she felt left out of the
conversation, as if he were talking about someone else entirely. "What are
you talking about? We get along perfectly, always have." She couldn't see
him, couldn't hear him, but suddenly there was something different about him,
as if the very air had become electrically charged. A powerful sense of danger
made the fine hairs on her body stand up. The danger was coming from him.
Without knowing why, she shrank back from him as far as she could in the
confines of the small tent, but there was no escape. With the suddenness of a
snake striking, he rolled and pinned her down, forcing her hands over her head
and holding them shackled there in a grip that hurt her wrists. "All
right, Jane, or Priscilla, or whoever you are, we're going to talk. I'm going
to ask the questions and you're going to answer them, and you'd better have the
right answers or you're in trouble, sugar. Who are you?"
Had he gone mad? Jane struggled briefly
against the grip on her wrists, but there was no breaking it. His weight bore
down heavily on her, controlling her completely. His muscled legs clasped hers,
preventing her from even kicking. "W—what…?" she stammered. "Grant, you're hurting me!"
"Answer me, damn you! Who are you?"
"Jane Greer!" Desperately, she tried
to put some humor in her voice, but it wasn't a very successful effort.
"I don't like being lied to, sugar."
His voice was velvety soft, and the sound of it chilled her to her marrow. Not
even Turego had affected her like this; Turego was a dangerous,
I'd been holding him off, but when he left yesterday… it was just yesterday, wasn't it? It seems like a year ago. Anyway, I
knew that, when he came back, I wouldn't be able to stop him any longer. My
time had run out."
"What makes you so certain of that?"
Jane paused, wondering just how much to tell
him, wondering how much he already knew. If he was involved, he would be
familiar with Luis's name; if he wasn't, the name would mean nothing to him.
She wanted to tell him; she didn't want to be alone in this nightmare any
longer. But she remembered George telling her once that secrecy was synonymous
with security, and she quelled the need to turn into Grant's arms and tell him
how afraid and alone she had been. If he wasn't involved already, he was safer
not knowing anything about it. On the other hand, if he was involved, she might be safer if he didn't realize
how deeply she was a part of things. Finally, to answer his question, she said,
"I wasn't certain. I was just afraid to stay, afraid of Turego ."
He grunted, and that seemed to be the end of
the conversation. Jane clenched her jaw against the sudden chattering of her
teeth. It was hot and steamy inside the dark tent, but chills were running up
and down her body. Why didn't he say something else, anything, rather than
lying there so quietly? She might as well have been alone. It was unnatural for
anyone to be that soundless, that utterly controlled.
"How was Dad?"
"Why?"
"I just wondered." Was he being
deliberately evasive? Why didn't he want to talk about her father?
Perhaps he hadn't been hired by her father at
all and didn't want to be drawn into a conversation about someone he was
supposed to have met, but hadn't.
After a measured silence, as if he had
carefully considered his answer, he said, "He was worried sick about you.
Surprised?"
"No, of course not," she said,
startled. "I'd be surprised if he weren't."
"It doesn't surprise you that he'd pay a
small fortune to get you out of Turego's hands, even
though you don't get along with him?"
He was confusing her; she felt left out of the
conversation, as if he were talking about someone else entirely. "What are
you talking about? We get along perfectly, always have." She couldn't see
him, couldn't hear him, but suddenly there was something different about him,
as if the very air had become electrically charged. A powerful sense of danger
made the fine hairs on her body stand up. The danger was coming from him.
Without knowing why, she shrank back from him as far as she could in the
confines of the small tent, but there was no escape. With the suddenness of a
snake striking, he rolled and pinned her down, forcing her hands over her head
and holding them shackled there in a grip that hurt her wrists. "All
right, Jane, or Priscilla, or whoever you are, we're going to talk. I'm going
to ask the questions and you're going to answer them, and you'd better have the
right answers or you're in trouble, sugar. Who are you?"
Had he gone mad? Jane struggled briefly
against the grip on her wrists, but there was no breaking it. His weight bore
down heavily on her, controlling her completely. His muscled legs clasped hers,
preventing her from even kicking. "W—what…?" she stammered. "Grant, you're hurting me!"
"Answer me, damn you! Who are you?"
"Jane Greer!" Desperately, she tried
to put some humor in her voice, but it wasn't a very successful effort.
"I don't like being lied to, sugar."
His voice was velvety soft, and the sound of it chilled her to her marrow. Not
even Turego had affected her like this; Turego was a dangerous,
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